


Glad You Asked (The Roads We Started On Remix)

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The queer group still meets every Thursday, though they've seen more than a handful of regime changes since the first time Leslie attended. The American flag and Gay Pride flags are now joined by the flag of the great state of Indiana (at Leslie's behest).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad You Asked (The Roads We Started On Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karmageddon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmageddon/gifts).



*

Ann sits on the edge of their bed, rolling her shoulders. Leslie runs a brush through her hair (Ann keeps it long, these days), the strokes soft and even and lulling her eyes closed. "Did you read Ron's e-mail?" she asks, breathing out in a gentle sigh. 

"Mm," Leslie replies, settling behind Ann. Her body is warm on Ann's back, and she leans into it. "Our Ron or _Swanson_ , Ron?"

Ann turns around, feeling the tug of the brush tingle through her scalp. She smiles. "And when does Ron Swanson ever touch a computer?"

Leslie grins and drops her hand against Ann's neck. "In that case," she says, sweeping Ann's hair to the side and pressing a kiss behind her ear, "I did, in fact, read the e-mail." She drops back onto the pillows with a heaviness that belies her constant energy -- running around town, organizing social justice marches, avoiding the library. She no longer needs to gesture, to pat her lap or the pillow, for Ann to join her, slowly adjusting so she can lie back comfortably, her head against Leslie's chest (one ear full of the throb of heartbeat). "What did you think?"

"He sounds happy," Leslie says simply, twisting her fingers through the fall of Ann's hair.

"And that study partner of his? Katie?"

Leslie presses a kiss to the top of Ann's head, though the angle is awkward. "He has to come out to us sometime."

*

Sunday comes with the scent of cinnamon. 

Ann pads into the kitchen and lovingly scratches Leslie's back while she sips at her coffee, noting that the whipped cream has long ago melted into a mocha-creme swirl. "Been up long?" she asks, peaking into the oven.

"It'll be done in five minutes. Stop letting the draft in." Leslie mock-scolds her. If Ann were close enough, it would be accompanied by a gentle prodding of her ankle with an insistent toe.

"Maybe someday I'll stop being surprised that you sleep even _less_ on the weekends than during the week." Ann shakes her head and pours herself a cup. The heat balloons up around her face. It isn't unpleasant.

"Nah," Leslie answers, pulling a face. "I'm a new wonder every morning."

"And humble, too."

Leslie smiles, shit-eating, and they talk quietly, exchanging small touches and sugared kisses. "Save some for Maggie," Leslie admonishes, though she's eaten most of the cake herself. Ann swipes at a crumb with her finger.

*

Maggie, their youngest who appeared with red hair and dark eyes only yesterday or fifteen years ago, takes the stairs two at a time and announces her presence with the _thud_ of three photo albums on the kitchen table. "Ronnie thinks I should use pictures to illustrate my personal essay."

Ann cuts her a piece of cake. "What's it about?"

"You two," Maggie says simply, not noticing when her mothers exchange a look that says many things, but mostly _love_. "You know. How you got together and like, revolutionized the way Pawnee treat gay people."

"Bisexuals," Leslie corrects, because sometimes she can't help it.

"I don't know why you guys insist on that," Maggie defends herself around a mouthful of cake. ("Chew first," Ann interjects.) "It's not like you've dated anyone else for like, decades." She steals a sip of Leslie's now-cold coffee and grimaces. "Geez, Mom. That's disgusting." She licks her fingers and flips open the first album. Ann smiles behind her hand.

They peer at the album over Maggie's shoulder and across the table.

There's: a view of greenery cut through tree branches, a careless thumb obscuring.

There's: a series of odd-angled shots in places they recognize as the places they used to live, quickly-snapped pictures of laughter and concentration (and nudity, but those are in a shoebox at the corner of the closet, to protect the kids from trauma).

There's: Ann focusing on something in the middle distance, straw from her drink tucked in the corner of her mouth.

There's: Pioneer Hall, Leslie grinning with her arms around her co-workers. ("Man," Maggie says, "Ron looks goofy without the beard.")

There's: an illicitly-snapped photo of a Monet.

*

Monday comes early and often, both rising before the alarm clock signals. 

"Where are you today?" Ann asks, reaching behind her back to secure her bra.

"The mayor's office. At least until he agrees to see me." Leslie grins into the bathroom mirror, running a brush over her short-cropped hair and smoothing both hands over the breast of her blazer.

"Call me at lunch, alright? You can tell me how it went while I dispense the meds." Ann winds her hair into a bun and steps into a simple cotton dress. "And dear God if Sam comes to see me _again_ during 2nd period, I'm going to break down and start tutoring him in math."

Leslie laughs and catches Ann around the middle. Morning tastes like mint and the echoes of sleep.

*

There's: Ann flipping off the camera, out of focus, a tank-top stretched over her stomach. 

There's: JJ's Diner. There's: more than a dozen lovingly placed portraits of waffles.

There's: A little redhead in purple leggings, a somber boy on the swings, an unusable Christmas photo -- Leslie's hand outstretched to tug at Ron's collar.

*

The queer group still meets every Thursday, though they've seen more than a handful of regime changes since the first time Leslie attended. The American flag and Gay Pride flags are now joined by the flag of the great state of Indiana (at Leslie's behest). After parking the car they enter the sanctuary, Ann pausing a moment to re-situate the casserole in her hands, Leslie her center and balance with a hand gentle on her back.

The basement smells faintly of water damage, but more like fruity candles and food. While Ann drops off the casserole (she calls the recipe Spinach Quesadilla, and a marvel, because Leslie _loves_ it, despite something green being the main ingredient) Leslie works the room, shaking hands with the men, hugging those with familiar faces, and introducing herself with a handshake to the nervous-looking teenager sitting outside the circle.

Ann still feels her heart swell up with pride when she watches Leslie like this, in her element, slipping in and out of attention. Carrying the best interests of those around her gently, cradled in her hands.

*

Ann presses a kiss to the inside of Leslie's elbow.

Leslie cups Ann's face and leans close, just breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Ann's hair is peppered with gray, and Leslie's somehow refuses to grow out anything but blonde. Ron, in his first year at college, isn't sure on a major yet. He's Ann's biologically, but imagines working in local government, like his mom. Maggie (Margaret Thatcher Knope) isn't sure of much right now, but at eighteen spends an Honors weekend at Indiana State and meets a softball player named Norah who she invites over for Thanksgiving break without preamble. Ann works as the junior high school nurse until Maggie graduates, and then Leslie comes home from city council with an article about the need for medical aide in South America. Two years later, they celebrate their anniversary in a tent covered in mosquito netting.


End file.
